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“No. I am well. I confronted him, but he left, thanks to your friends.” Honoria took a step forward, her hands clasped tightly to hide their trembling. “What are you doing here?”

He advanced on her, moving closer to the balcony doors. “I’m here to take you home. With me.”

“You can’t.” The words were anguished. “I just stood in front of a ballroom of two hundred people and asked Bradshaw for a divorce. He’s already insinuated that I’m mad. He’ll ruin your life.”

They moved toward each other with every word, as if pulled by an invisible thread, until only inches remained between them. She could feel the heat radiating from his body and smell his familiar scent.

“He’ll have to try,” he said fiercely.

“But Elise—” Her protest was weak, her resolve crumbling in the face of his nearness.

“Elise will disown me if I return home without you,” he said with a laugh. “Please, don’t argue with me. I’ve lost two arguments today already, and I actually want to win this one.”

“What are you talking about?” She couldn’t help but chuckle, looking at his dear face.

“It doesn’t matter.” He brushed a lock of hair from her face, his touch tender. His fingertips lingered against her cheek. “Nothing matters except that I love you, Honoria, Aurelia, my Hart—whatever your name is. And I’m not letting you go.”

She couldn’t restrain herself any longer. All the fear, longing, and tension that had built over weeks of distance—she poured it all into a kiss. And he responded in kind, kissing her madly, passionately, with all the fervor of a man who had nearly lost everything. His arms encircled her, pulling her flush against him, one hand cradling the back of her head as if she were precious beyond measure.

He broke the kiss only to trail his mouth down her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her chest rising above her bodice. His lips burned against her skin, making her gasp and arch into him. He glanced up, fire brewing in his eyes. “Is this the same gown that—”

“I wore to the masquerade.” She gave a tiny nod, heat spreading across her cheeks at the memory of their first kiss, that first stolen moment in the shadows of another ball.

He grinned, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. He trailed his hand over her stomach, her breasts, then up to the neckline of her gown, only to pull it down with force, ripping the bodice once more, freeing her breasts to the cold night air. The sound of tearing fabric was lost in her gasp of pleasure—and then his mouth claimed her exposed skin.

* * *

“What do you think they are doing in there?” Emily, the Duchess of Tyrone, asked her husband as they stood outside the drawing room door.

Alec raised his brow. “You know what I would be doing.”

“And what is that?” She glanced up at him through her dark lashes, an invitation in her eyes.

He pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers. “Ravishing you,” he said hoarsely against her lips.

“Perhaps,” she whispered, her lashes fluttering, “you should do that, then.”

He bent down, lifted her into his arms, and carried her into a neighboring room, shutting the door behind them.

Chapter 27

His hands clutching Honoria’s waist, Jacob took her breast into his mouth and sucked deeply. How good it felt to have her in his arms again—to taste her skin, to breathe in her scent.

He’d missed her so terribly. And to think he’d believed he could spend years without her, when he’d nearly gone mad after three measly weeks.

Her fingers plunged into his hair as she gasped, arching her back, pulling him closer.

“Yes,” she whispered breathlessly. “Yes, more.”

As he continued to lavish attention on her breasts, his hands moved lower, clutching her skirts, pulling them up. His fingers caressed the silky skin he uncovered with reverence.

“Jacob,” she gasped.

“Honoria,” he breathed against her skin, gooseflesh rising beneath his mouth, her nipples hardening from his breath. “My love. My heart.”

He licked her nipple, and she moaned, thrusting her hips forward, her knee hooking over his hip. With one hand, he grabbed her thigh, holding her closer, while the other explored higher—his fingers finding her slick center, teasing her folds, then plunging into her wet heat.

Her hips bucked, her fingers tightening in his hair. He thrust his fingers inside her, mimicking the rhythm of passion, while his mouth continued to worship her breasts.